


Begin the End

by sadladybug



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, minor descriptions of wounds, potential Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadladybug/pseuds/sadladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment the chains are secure around Azula's wrists, Katara breaks out into a run. Her boots slap against the stones and each step echoes mockingly in the empty plaza: too late, too late. Panic squeezes her heart as she sees him lying crumpled on the ground, and she wishes for just that moment that she were an airbender so that she might get to him faster...Zutara</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moment the chains are secure around Azula’s wrists, Katara breaks out into a run.

Her boots slap against the stones and each step echoes mockingly in the empty plaza: _too late, too late_. Panic squeezes her heart as she sees him lying crumpled on the ground, and she wishes for just that moment that she were an airbender so that she might get to him faster. If only she had just stayed on the sidelines, if only she hadn’t just _frozen_ , if only Azula wouldn’t have wasted so much _time_ , if only –

The smell of charred meat and scorched fabric hits her in full force when she is just paces away, and suddenly it’s Aang all over again but it’s worse, it’s so much worse, and she doesn’t have the spirit water this time but what would it matter anyway, she can’t heal a corpse –

He groans, low and gritty, and it’s all she can do not to shout her thanks to the spirits. She skids to a stop and kneels down; cradling his head as she gently turns him over. One look at the wound is enough to quell the celebration in her head. She swallows hard and pulls the water to her hands. Her palms hover over his abdomen, but she concentrates on his face. His eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow and shuddering. She watches his features go into sharp relief as the blue glow washes over him. She knows she needs to concentrate, knows she needs to center herself, but for one terrifying moment his body quakes and she can’t bear to take her eyes off of him, in case –

 _No. This is Zuko. He never gives up without a fight. And I won’t either._ She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She wills the tissue to heal, plunges her awareness into his flesh. With every breath she counts the reasons he will survive.

Inhale. _I’m a master waterbender._

Exhale. _I healed the Avatar, I can heal you, too._

Inhale. _You’re a powerful bender._

Exhale. _I saw you redirect the lightning, even if the form wasn’t right._

His body convulses again and her concentration is broken, but she doesn’t dare stop. Her lip starts to tremble and her own breathing stutters but she wills it to even out, pushes down the fear and helplessness and tries again.

Inhale. _You aren’t going to die._

Exhale. _You can’t die. Not for me._

Inhale. _You can’t leave me here like this._

Exhale. _You can’t leave me here with so much I need to say._

Inhale. _Wake up. Wake up so I can tell you how stupid you were to do this._

Exhale. _Wake up so I can tell you –_

He groans again and her eyes snap open, her thoughts forgotten. His face is agony; she can hear him grinding his teeth. She risks a glance at his chest. It’s only a start, the skin is still an angry red and the lightning has left spider-webbed welts in his flesh, but at least for now the bleeding has stopped. His face relaxes and her relief washes over her like a tidal wave when he opens his eyes. Her heart aches when he offers her the ghost of a smile.

“Thank you, Katara.”

She isn’t sure when she started crying, but her vision has blurred and she can feel the tears cooling on her cheeks. She smiles back. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

She wipes her eyes and helps him to sit up. She tries to make him stay still, to rest for a minute, but he is as stubborn as ever. He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut with the effort of it, but he manages to stand. Katara follows closely at his side, her hand on his back. She wants to stop him, but she can sense his determination despite the unsteadiness of his steps. Together, they make their way toward Azula, slowing to a stop just outside of the range of the blue fire spilling from her mouth.

She waits. Beneath her hand she can feel his ragged breathing, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stares unflinchingly at his sister, his face unreadable. Azula’s writhing intensifies with their proximity; her eyes roll wildly and the volume of her screeching is enough to make Katara flinch. Her words are mostly incomprehensible, but when she says her brother’s name it is as both a plea and a curse. Jagged pieces of her hair stick to the tears smeared across her cheeks and her nose is running into her wailing mouth.

Maybe it’s the stress of the battle, maybe it’s her natural empathy for people in need, maybe it’s the relief that Zuko is okay, _really_ okay, but despite everything that has happened, despite the fact that she can smell her own singed hair from the battle just minutes ago, she can’t help but feel _something_ in this moment. Pity, embarrassment, sadness, disgust: she can’t quite place it, but she knows she can’t stand to witness it anymore. It’s too much. She looks away.

She turns to Zuko. The glossy flesh of his scar conceals the emotion in his eyes, but she notices the corners of his mouth begin to twitch downward and a slight tremble in his chin. He blinks hard, swaying a little on his feet, and before she can stop him he turns on his heel and storms toward the exit of the plaza.

He makes it less than ten paces before clutching his chest and stumbling to his knees.

She shouts his name and rushes forward, just barely catching him awkwardly and preventing his head from thumping against the ground. He is limp in her arms. His breath rattles in his chest and he goes silent.

Behind them, Azula’s moans turn to cackles. Katara does her best to ignore the sound of it and the feeling like lead in her gut. She eases him onto his back and gives his shoulder a tentative shake.

“Zuko?”

No response. She _knew_ he shouldn’t have gotten up so soon, she _knew_ she should have insisted that he rest. But he was okay just a minute ago, wasn’t he? He sat up. He _walked_. She resists the urge to splash him in the face with her water. Instead, she shakes him harder and says it more firmly this time, as though he is just playing a trick on her and if she is stern he will obey.

“Zuko. Come on. Get up.”

The seconds tick by and nothing is happening. She hesitates, then checks his pulse. It is weak and irregular and suddenly she is afraid that it won’t last. The thought makes her feel dizzy, makes her feel frantic. She pulls her water to her hands and tries to finish what she started, but this isn’t like healing a cut or a burn. The problem isn’t centralized, it seems to be _everywhere_. She needs more time. The urge to escape overwhelms her. She _needs_ to get away from this place, to get to somewhere to heal him and let him rest, to get away from that incessant noise coming from his sister, to do _something_ , to _save_ him. She _has_ to move him, of this she feels certain.

She makes several false starts, not sure how to carry him without aggravating his wound. He is just so _heavy_ , and more than once her mind has to avoid the phrase _dead weight_. She finally decides to grab him from behind, hooking her arms around his waist and dragging him while his heels scrape the stones.

She manages a few steps before her foot catches on the uneven ground, disrupting her balance. They tip backward and the two of them crash down together. She lands hard on her tailbone, legs splayed out in front of her, still clutching Zuko around the waist. He hunches forward, arms drooping at his sides.

The weight of his body and the weight of the day and the weight of the moment all catch up to her at once. She sees herself as though from the outside: a teenage girl, surrounded by a structure that is burning all around her while she clutches a dying boy like a talisman. She feels so alone and so stupid – _why did I ever think I could do this? Why did I let him?_ – that she finally succumbs to the despair that has threatened to bubble over ever since she saw him glide into that web of crackling blue light. The tears start slowly, but build in earnest until her wails drown out Azula’s. She pulls him closer, presses her body against his back, as if saving him was simply a matter of holding him tightly enough. She digs her chin into his shoulder, rocks him gently, and between hiccupping sobs she whispers repeated promises that she isn’t sure she can keep. If they are for her or for him, she isn’t certain. She has always been strong, always been dedicated to helping people who need her, but in this moment all she feels is defeated and she is utterly unsure of what to do. Unbidden, she thinks of her mother, and fresh tears spread on his tunic as she begins humming her favorite lullaby from childhood, the one her mother used to sing that promised quick sleep and sweet dreams.

_Sleep. Bed. Blankets. That’s it._

Her tears dry and her sense of purpose is renewed. She glances frantically around the plaza until her eyes find their target. She gives Zuko a quick squeeze before gently laying him down.

She sprints to the steps of the coronation plaza. Banners bearing the Fire Nation insignia and another she doesn’t recognize wave in the breeze, tassels and edges burning brightly. She uses her water to douse the flames before tearing one down and running back.

She doubles the banner and lays it on the ground next to Zuko. Grabbing him from underneath his arms, she settles his torso on the cloth before picking up his ankles to finish the task. Bending down, she picks up the extra length of fabric behind his head and starts pulling. She makes it halfway across the plaza before she feels an extra tug on the other end.

She looks behind her and jolts when she sees a man in red robes bending down, pulling on the cloth near Zuko’s feet. She flows into a bending stance, the embodiment of rage and fear and desperation.

 _“Leave him alone!”_ Her voice is shrill and high and not her own. He drops the banner and holds his palms out to her.

“Stop! Please! Let me help you.”

_“Get away from us!”_

He remains calm in the eye of her storm. “Please. It’s not safe here. I know where to take him.”

She studies him but does not yield. He takes a step back and keeps his hands where she can see them but holds her gaze. She is more than suspicious, but her eyes flick down at Zuko and something about the way he lays so still atop the proud symbol of his nation raises goose bumps on her arms. She realizes with shame that she doesn’t even have a destination in mind; she was just focused on getting _away_. The truth is she has nowhere to go.

Her stance softens but her eyes do not. “Why should I trust you?”

She watches his every move as he reaches into the sleeve of his robe and produces a small round token. She recognizes it immediately and almost laughs. A white lotus tile.

“I know his uncle.”

Her shoulders droop and she resists the urge to throw her arms around him. _We are not alone._ She approaches him and picks up the end of the banner at Zuko’s feet. “Lead the way.”

Together they carry him with haste through the empty streets of the capital. A feeling of déjà vu settles over her as she thinks of the last time she was here. The journey is not long but each second drags as she stares intently at Zuko’s chest and face, watching for signs that he will make it, as though any moment now he’ll open his eyes and tease her for worrying so much. _Just a little longer. You’re going to be fine._ The thought only seems half empty: she is scared, and he is hurt, but she still has hope that they can make it.

When they approach the palace walls she tenses, but there are no guards in sight. “Where is everyone?”

“Azula dismissed the Imperial Firebenders. Ozai took many of the others to Ba Sing Se. But that doesn’t mean the palace is unprotected. Quite the contrary.” She can’t see his face, but she senses the smile in his voice.

They make their way through the manicured grounds and enter the cavernous halls of the Fire Nation Palace. At any other time she might have stopped to marvel at its opulence or ask questions about the lavish rooms seen though open doors as they pass. As it is she notices none of it, and instead watches the shadows that pass over Zuko’s face as they traverse a long hallway dotted with burning braziers. She wishes they would just _hurry_. She almost doesn’t notice when her companion slows in front of an ornate door and shifts Zuko’s weight so that he can open it.

They lay him down on a bed covered in red silk. He lights the lamps in the room and fetches more water at her request while she busies herself with adjusting the pillows beneath Zuko’s head. Her fingers find the pulse at his neck; slow and faint and scattered, but there all the same. When she sighs she feels it in her bones. Her hand lingers, and she reaches up to brush the hair off of his forehead. A fingertip ghosts over the crease of his scar and she snatches her hand back without knowing why. The sound of his labored breathing is all she can hear until her helper startles her from the doorway.

“Your water, miss.”

She thanks him as he sets a large bowl on a table near the bed. She moves to pull the water to her hands, but the light from the lamps illuminates the golden dragons enameled onto the side of the bowl and she stops. For the first time, Katara looks around the room and notes the fine tapestries, the plush carpets, and the shine of the mahogany.

“What room is this?”

He smiles and his eyes dart to Zuko before finding hers again. _Oh._ Unconsciously she inches away from the bed a little.

“Why here?”

He says it matter-of-factly, but his eyes crinkle with kindness. “It’s the safest room in the palace, aside from the Fire Lord’s.”

She nods, not sure what to say, anxious to get to work. “Thank you. So much. I don’t know what we would have done without your help.”

He bows. “No need. It’s a pleasure to serve. Now, please bar the door behind me.”

She is startled, not at all certain she wants to be left alone again. “You’re leaving?”

“There are other matters I must attend to. But you will be safe here.”

He turns to leave, but she stops him. “Wait. How did you know…?”

He gives her an enigmatic smile. Then he is gone. She follows his orders and places the heavy iron bar across the door. Then she returns to Zuko’s bedside.

She takes a deep breath and summons the water. She offers a tired smile that Zuko can’t see.

“Did you hear that? We’ll be safe here.” She sighs and applies the water to his wounds. “It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to heal you, and I’m going to do it right. You’ll be stomping around and scowling in no time, you’ll see.”

She works well into the night. The water glows, the skin knits, but he does not wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

There are no windows, but she can tell by the pull in her blood and the fatigue in her bones that the moon is high. She has spent what feels like hours pushing her awareness into the flesh of the body before her, renewing damaged muscles and pinching off broken capillaries. By now, she feels she has mapped every vein and artery, and she is sure that no other person will ever share such intimate knowledge of his heart. Yet his eyes remain closed and he has not stirred.

She sways on her feet. How long as she been standing? She needs to rest, if only for a moment. She finds a chair in the corner of the room and carries it next to the bed. Before sitting, she pulls the blankets up to his waist and lays his hands on top. It is then that she sees it.

The fingers of his right hand are curled inward, burned and blistered. She thinks of Aang and the exit wound on his foot, and chastises herself for not thinking of checking him elsewhere for injuries once he was stabilized. She sighs wearily. _At least I can heal this one sitting down._

She settles into the chair and pulls his hand into her lap. The burns on his fingertips are deep and require the most concentration, but when the water finally falls away they have disappeared. She turns his hand over in hers, checking the fingernails and the skin between his fingers. She runs her fingers gently over his palm. _Perfect._

On impulse, she laces the fingers with hers, studying the size of his knuckles and the contrast of his skin against hers. She bites her lip and stares transfixed at their hands.

“I’m sorry, Zuko. I wish… I wish I knew how to make this better.”

She doesn’t have to look at him to know there’s no response.

“I trained in the healing hut up North, did you know that? Not for very long though. Master Pakku – my grandfather now, I guess, you met him – he was my waterbending master. He didn’t want to teach me at first, he said that women couldn’t fight. But I convinced him.” She smiles at the memory. “In the meantime I trained in the healing hut with Yagoda.” Her smile falters. “I guess I should have spent more time there. Maybe I would know what to do now.”

She knows he can’t hear her, but she continues anyway. “You just…you always bounce back, you know? Every time we thought you were far behind us, there you were. In the forest, in the North, in the desert… and in Ba Sing Se.”

Her voice trails off and she looks at him. She unlaces their hands and sets his on the bed. She twists in her chair and reaches out, tentatively running a finger over the smooth pink skin where his eyebrow should have been. She rests her hand on his cheek and lets her thumb trace a line across his bottom lip.

“I wanted so badly to heal you then. Would it have made a difference?”

The warmth of his breath on her hand as he exhales brings her back into the moment, and she withdraws her hand. She stands up and steps away from the bed, feeling as though she is suddenly too close.

“No, probably not.”

Her chest constricts a little with hurts old and new. She takes a deep breath and stares up into the high ceiling, looking for a distraction in the vaulted beams. She exhales loudly. Her eyes bounce around the room’s sparse but elegant furnishings, the high polish on the carved wood. “Look at this place, Zuko. I can’t believe you lived here.” Her mind twists on the tense. Does he live here again? _Will_ he live here again? She quickly banishes the thought.

She doesn’t go back to him, not right away. Instead, she slowly paces the length of the room. She passes a tapestry depicting a map of the Fire Nation which hangs above a mahogany desk. She stops to examine one of the brushes lying on the desk’s surface before carefully placing it back in a row with the others. A large potted plant with broad leaves sits not far away; she wonders absentmindedly if he watered it or if that was someone else’s job. At the back of the room are double doors and she glances back toward the center of the room where Zuko lies before pulling one open. A voice inside her head that sounds suspiciously like Toph tells her she shouldn’t be snooping, but she ignores it.

The light is dim, but even in the dark she can tell it’s the largest closet she’s ever seen. Boots and pointy-toed shoes line the floor along with boxes and trunks. An array of burgundy and gold robes hang along the walls, with a few pure white ones toward the back. She reaches out to touch one and the fabric runs through her fingers like the water she bends. She tries to imagine what it was like for him to dress in these clothes each day, to wake up surrounded by silk. What it was like for him to trade it in for traveling clothes and the furry back of a flying bison. She’d have to ask him if he ever woke up. _When_ , her mind corrects. _When_ he wakes up.

To the other side of the closet is a crowd of armor stands displaying breastplates and shoulder guards worked with metal and leather. Matching helmets line a shelf above. From their condition these have never seen battle, and she’s not even sure if they’ve ever been worn. The designs are unfamiliar save one. Her brother’s voice rings in her head: _“just some angry freak with a ponytail who’s tracked us all over the world.”_ Her lips quirk at the memory. How frightening he had seemed then. How easy it had been to hate him. Was it only less than a year ago? She marvels at how much things had changed. She tries to recall how it felt, but images of a shaggy-haired boy telling half-formed jokes about tea appear instead.

She closes the door and makes her way back to Zuko. She is about to sit down in her chair, until she notices a small nightstand situated on the other side of the bed. She knows she probably shouldn’t, but she goes over to it anyway. Inlays of red dragons dance across its surface, and there is a single drawer. She pulls it open as quietly as possible.

The drawer is empty save for two objects. His crown she notices first. She picks it up and feels the smooth weight of the gold in her palm. She tries to imagine him wearing it but the closest she can come is to remember the severe topknot he used to have. She sets it back in the drawer, careful to wipe the fingerprints off its surface. The second object is a small, square piece of parchment lying face down. She retrieves it and turns it over to discover a family portrait.

Her eyes go first to Ozai, his face younger but still stern and hard. Next to Ozai sits a beautiful woman, her face kind and gentle, if not a little sad. _That’s her_ , she thinks with a start, _that’s Zuko’s mom_. Her hand travels unconsciously to the pendant at her throat. She closes her eyes briefly and tries to picture her own mother, but the vision is hazy. Looking back at the brushstrokes she wonders if Zuko knows how lucky he is to have even this much.

Below his mother sits Azula. Even in her youth, her eyes betrayed her cleverness and arrogance. Finally she focuses on Zuko. She thinks he can’t be older than ten. His father’s hand is on his shoulder and he looks uncomfortable, his hands twisting in his lap. His face is blank and unblemished. It feels strange looking at a childhood version of Prince Zuko. _No, not a prince, not yet_ , she reminds herself. Still important, still royalty, but not yet destined to be the Fire Lord’s son. Her face twists as she considers this, still not sure how that came to be. Her eye’s travel back to his father. How would his life have been different if he had made different choices? How would all of their lives have been different? She looks over at Zuko and sees the rippled flesh that covers half of his face. Tendrils of anger curl in her chest for just a moment before she replaces the portrait and closes the drawer.

“Zuko, I sincerely hope that Aang made the right decision. You deserve justice.”

She jolts as she listens to her own words. Guilt invades her mind as she realizes that this is the first time she has really considered Aang since they had arrived at the palace. She sinks down onto the side of the bed. Where was he? Was he okay? Did he even fight the Fire Lord? She is Aang’s strongest supporter, his closest friend. Her faith in him is strong, but she can’t erase the trickles of doubt and fear that she feels, not only for him, but for herself, her friends, and the whole world.

The sense of helplessness returns, but she chooses not to let it overtake her. She is only one person, and she cannot save the whole world, not this time. All she can do right now is focus on her small part of it, right now, here in this room.

She turns on the bed and sits cross-legged facing Zuko. She reaches over and checks him again; his breathing is low and even, though his pulse remains weak. She pulls the water to her and resumes her work.

The night wears on, and in the end her eyes and limbs grow heavy. The adrenaline that fed her has long since worn off. She barely has the energy to send the water back into the bowl before lying down. A distant part of her mind that sounds like her father tells her that this is improper, that she should sleep somewhere else. She is too tired to care. She reaches over and gives Zuko’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Don’t…don’t go anywhere, okay?”

She falls asleep.

* * *

Her eyes open slowly. Somewhere behind her a lamp burns low, and her surroundings are dim. She can’t be sure how long she’s been asleep, but her limbs feel heavy and ache when she stretches. She lies still and listens to the sound of Zuko’s breathing. She knows she should get up, but her body refuses to cooperate. _I’ll just lie here a few more minutes._

She rolls over and looks at him. In this moment, her mind still cloudy from sleep, she is filled with the strange sensation that this could be any day: that he is not hurt, that she is not waiting to find out the fate of the world, that there is something perfectly normal about all of this. That a part of her _wants_ there to be something perfectly normal about all of this. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, it feels as if he really is just sleeping and all she has to do is reach out and touch him, that if she does his eyes will blink open and he will smile at her.

Hesitantly she reaches out and shakes his arm. “Zuko?”

His head rolls to the side, but his eyes remain closed. She knows it was silly to expect anything different, but the disappointment makes her chest ache all the same.

She frowns and whispers to him. “How can I make this right? What am I supposed to do?”

She reaches for him, but stops when she hears commotion in the hallway. She holds her breath and listens hard. It is the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps. And they are coming closer.

She scrambles out of the bed and summons her water. She curses that there isn’t more; all she has is what little remains in her pouch and the water she has been using to heal Zuko. With quiet steps she inches toward the door, water at the ready. She puts her ear against the door and listens.

Someone bangs on the door and she jumps back. Her heart races and she glances back at Zuko. This gives her strength, somehow. Maybe she can’t save him, but she can at least match his courage. She turns back to the door and firms her stance.

More banging. And then: “Katara? Are you in there? Open the door!”

 _Sokka._ She can’t get to the door fast enough. She sends her water back into her pouch and struggles with the iron bar before throwing open the doors.

She sees her brother first, a figure in familiar blue against a sea of red. Something inside her cracks.

“Man, Katara, could you take any longer? Toph was about to metalbend the – oof!” She launches herself at him.

She is laughing as she squeezes him; the stretch of the smile on her face feels foreign. “You’re okay! I can’t believe you’re okay!”

“Hey, save some for the rest of us, Sugar Queen.”

She releases Sokka and sees the rest of her friends: The impact of the battle is visible on all of them; their clothes are torn in places and for the first time she notices the bandages on her brother’s leg. They look weary and hurt but they are smiling and they are _here_.

She hugs them each in turn. Suki embraces her quickly before returning to Sokka’s side to help him stand, and Toph surprises her with the strength of her arms. And then there is Aang. He shifts in her vision: at once he is strong and older than his years, but his sheepish smile and the pink in his cheeks make him seem like the boy that he is. She can’t help but fall into his arms. He grips her fiercely, and when she steps back he keeps a hand on her shoulder. She smiles at them all. As if on cue, they all move forward at once and fall into a group embrace. It feels strong and it feels right. Except one person is missing and she isn’t the only one to notice.

Her brother looks around. “Hey, where’s Zuko? Come on, Zuko, you know you’re supposed to be a part of group hugs too! Where ya at?”

Her body stiffens and she pulls back. The color drains from Toph’s face and she points to the inside of the room. They all turn to look. She is stunned to see that Zuko isn’t alone. Iroh sits next to the bed, his face a grim mask as he clutches Zuko’s hand in both of his own. A few dry gray hairs have worked their way out of his topknot and stick out at odd angles. He stares blankly at the floor, the dirty and torn edges of his blue robes pooling at his feet.

Sokka’s face drops. “Oh man…”

The words come spilling out. “I – Azula challenged him, there was nothing I could do, she shot lightening – “

Aang looks startled. “She shot lightening at him? He redirected it though, right?”

“He – well yes, but –“

Toph interrupts her sputtering, always one to get to the heart of the matter. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He – “ She stops. It is on the tip of her tongue to explain it all, but she realizes with sudden clarity the truth she has been avoiding all along: that any explanation she could give would end with the same conclusion, that none of her healing or training or hope has done anything to open his eyes. The seeds of doubt and worry that were scattered in her mind – the ones that she had dismissed, because _of course_ he was going to be fine - take root all at once and bury themselves deep. She looks at her friends and feels ashamed. Her face crumples as she chokes out the only answer she has.

“I don’t know.”

The strength and hope she had drawn from her friends abandons her. She feels Aang’s arms come up around her as she cries.


	3. Chapter 3

They eventually convince her to leave Zuko’s room to get something to eat. She is reluctant to leave him, but Iroh agrees to stay. He gives them directions and they make their way to the kitchens.

The palace still feels like a ghost town. Their steps and voices echo through the halls. They encounter very few people along their way; Katara thinks she can tell the palace staff from the White Lotus members only by the way they choose to either meet or avoid her gaze.

She is silent throughout the meal. She eats mechanically and the food turns to ash on her tongue. She should be hungry - she learns from her friends that it has been almost two days since the comet has passed – but her stomach feels knotted. Regardless, she continues to eat, knowing that she needs to keep up her strength.

While they eat, she listens to her brother as he tells the story of how he, Suki, and Toph defeated the fleet of airships. In spite of herself, she is engaged in the story and welcomes the distraction from her thoughts. She smiles when Sokka tells her about imitating the airship’s captain, and holds her breath when he recounts how he lost his boomerang and “space sword.” More than once she looks to Suki when she thinks he must be exaggerating, but she only nods and shrugs.

“…So then we finally get over to where Aang was, and there’s Ozai lying against this pile of rocks. And Suki asks, ‘did you finish the job?’ And then- “ Sokka starts giggling. “And then she gets close to him, and –“ He’s laughing outright now, clutching his side with one arm while waving a drumstick in the other. “And then he sits up and says ‘I’m still alive!’ before he totally falls flat on his face! You should have seen it Katara, it was hilarious!”

Everyone is laughing, but her thoughts flash back to the portrait in Zuko’s nightstand, and the feel of his scar under her fingertips. She sets down her chopsticks and her eyes swing to Aang.

“Wait. Ozai is alive?”

He squirms under her gaze. “Well, yeah, I figured out a way to defeat him without killing him. You see – “

She pushes back from the table and stands. “I’m not hungry anymore. I have to go check on Zuko.” She turns and heads for the exit. She hears Aang calling for her to wait, but she keeps walking.

She starts to head for Zuko’s room, but decides against it. Iroh is there, and she needs to be alone. Her body and her mind are buzzing; she can’t quite place the emotion but it feels a bit like rage tinged with disappointment. She stalks down the hallways of the palace, not sure where she is going but certain that she needs to work off this energy and sort out what she feels.

As she walks, she starts to feel calmer, but not enough. She passes through a long corridor lined with enormous portraits of past Fire Lords. She slows to examine them, wondering at the symbolism incorporated into each one. She stops at the end of the row, and stares at the larger-than-life depiction of Ozai. Her features harden and her hands tighten to fists: she thinks that if she were a firebender she would gladly set this particular painting ablaze. She looks away and wills herself to relax. The wall is empty next to Ozai. She remembers landing in the coronation plaza, Zuko’s bravado as he bantered with his sister: _You’re not going to become Fire Lord today. I am._ As if it was so simple, as if the outcome was obvious. But it wasn’t. She hates herself for wondering whose portrait will hang here next before continuing down the hall.

After a few more turns, one of the hallways empties out into the night, and she feels a warm breeze on her face as she steps outside. She realizes that she hasn’t seen the sky in two days, and she takes a moment just to breathe the fresh air.

The palace grounds are silent as dusk starts to fall; she can hear the chirping of insects and little else. Stars wink into existence as the sky darkens. She isn’t sure where she is going, but a sense that there is water nearby tugs at her senses and she follows it. A cobblestone path opens up to a garden with flowering bushes and small trees. At the center is a pond where turtleducks swim in lazy circles in the water. A stone bench sits at the edge of the pond beneath the low crooked branches of a maple tree. She approaches the bench and sits down. Careful not to disturb the turtleducks, she pulls a stream of water from the pond and completes a few flourishes before returning it with a small splash.

It is not long before Aang finds her. Though not as adept as Toph, she has learned to recognize the sound of his footsteps. He stops a respectful distance away and she can see him shift uncomfortably on his feet at the edges of her vision.

“Hey Katara, I was just on my way to find Appa…”

She huffs. “Right.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, so I was kind of hoping I would run into you on the way…can I sit with you?”

She shrugs her acquiescence. A long moment passes before either of them speaks.

“I know you’re angry with me Katara. But I wish you weren’t, and I wish I knew why.”

She chokes back a bitter laugh. _Where to begin?_ She doesn’t answer for a moment, searching for the words. Even now, she feels compelled to be gentle with him. “Maybe I am angry, Aang. But I’m also really glad you’re safe. When we woke up on Ember Island and you weren’t there, we were all so worried. We didn’t know what had happened to you or what was going to happen when the comet came.” She pauses and glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity getting the better of her. “So what happened? Where were you? How did you defeat Ozai?”

He brightens a little, excitement gleaming in his eyes. He tells her the tale, complete with dramatic gestures: the confusion of waking up on the back of the lion turtle, the mixture of fear and determination watching Ozai approach on the airship, the surge of power at the return of the Avatar state as his chakra was unblocked. As he describes chasing Ozai through the maze of pillars, she feels her excitement grow as she waits for him to come to the end.

“…And then I slammed him down on top of one of the pillars, encasing his arms in rock. I was still in the Avatar state, and I was about to…well I was about to kill him. I really was. But I just couldn’t do it.”

She thinks of Yon Rha down on his knees in the mud, and for a moment she thinks she can understand. But this wasn’t about one girl facing down her mother’s murderer; this was about the fate of the whole world. “So…what happened next?”

He smiles. “I took his bending away.”

Cold horror descends over her, freezing her blood and pricking at her skin like thousands of her own ice needles. What flows through her mind are not so much memories as they are lived experiences: lying paralyzed on the floor of the Earth Kingdom palace surrounded by a pool of her own bending water while Ty Lee smiles above her; the cold winds of the North and the pain she felt as the moon turned red, the emptiness that was left behind when it turned to ash. She feels sick. Unconsciously, she inches away from him. “Oh, Aang…”

His smile falters. “What? It was the best way, don’t you see? He didn’t have to die. I was able to subdue him, and now he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“I don’t know, Aang. It just…It just feels wrong somehow.”

His face takes on a stormy quality. “What, you’d rather I’d have killed him? How is that any better?”

“It’s his _bending_ Aang! How would you feel if you couldn’t bend anymore?”

“I can’t believe you’re feeling sorry for him! I thought you’d be happy!” He stands up and paces, the water in the pond following him as he walks, disturbing the turtleducks and sending them waddling for the bushes.

“I’m not feeling sorry for him!” She crosses her arms and huffs. “Ozai is evil and dangerous and…” It’s then that it hits her. “And he doesn’t have to bend to be dangerous. Look at Sokka and Suki. They can’t bend, and look what they can do! Ozai manipulates people, and he commands a whole nation to do his bidding for him!”

Aang turns to look at her, confused. “Not anymore, Katara. Zuko’s the Fire Lord now.”

It’s out before she can stop herself. _“No he isn’t!”_ She shouts. “He’s in that bed and he won’t wake up and it’s _all my fault!”_ She claps a hand over her mouth and her vision blurs. Aang comes back to the bench and covers one of her hands with his own.

“Is that what this is about? Is this because Zuko got hurt?”

She doesn’t answer. Her head feels crowded, like too many thoughts are competing for her attention at once. It’s Zuko’s breath rattling in his chest while Ozai breathes free in a cell. It’s the choices they have all made and what they’ve amounted to, what they’ve really meant in the end. It’s a sense of injustice; they’ve all fought so hard and now it is over, but it is _not_ over, not really. Some things have ended, some things are just beginning. And it’s not what she expected; it’s not what she had hoped.

But she can’t say any of this. She isn’t even sure where she would start.

Aang offers her a sad smile and tilts his head. “It’s okay Katara. I’m sure Zuko will wake up soon.”

She pulls her hand away and swipes angrily at her tears. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do. You’ve done your best to heal him. He’ll wake up and then everything will go back to the way it was, you’ll see.”

Her mind conjures up images of standing atop a submersible, and the feeling of lips pressed hot and quick against her own. But then it flashes again, bright as lightning, to the sight of her hand nestled in long pale fingers and the feeling of chapped lips beneath her thumb. Her heart grieves for both of these memories, but in very different ways.

“No,” she says slowly as she meets his eyes. “It won’t.” He looks confused, but she is certain. The weight of the statement hangs between them.

“What do you mean?” He may be young, but even he can detect that there are deeper undercurrents in her tone. She feels ashamed hearing the hurt in his voice, but she can’t change it. She can’t change any of it, even if she wanted to.

She sighs. “Just… I’m sorry Aang. I think I need to be alone for a while.”

She can tell he doesn’t want to go, that he has more to say. But after a beat, he stands. “Sure, Katara. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She nods, and she listens to his footsteps fade away on the path. Yue glows brightly in the sky, and Katara can’t help but remember her determination as she stepped toward the spirit oasis: _I have to do this._ She remembers the look in her mother’s eyes and the kind firmness in her voice as she urged Katara out of the tent: _Go find your Dad, sweetie. I’ll handle this._ And then Zuko: _This way, no one else has to get hurt._

She looks at Yue again and wonders if she knew what would happen to her. She wonders if she ever regrets it.


	4. Chapter 4

She makes her way back to Zuko’s room. Iroh remains where she left him. As she closes the door behind her, she can hear him speaking softly. He looks up at her as she approaches.

“Good evening, Miss Katara. I did not expect you back so soon.”

“I’m sorry, General Iroh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to check on him.”

“Just Iroh, if you please. It’s no trouble at all; I was just reciting some of my nephew’s favorite stories from when he was a boy. As he grew older, he had less patience for a foolish old man’s tales, I’m afraid. I thought he might like to hear them again.”

She finds it in herself to be wry. “Let me guess: stories about honor and swords.”

“You might be surprised.” Iroh matches her smile, and for some reason she feels heat in her cheeks. She looks away quickly and summons her water. Her hands hover over Zuko’s chest, and she is relieved at the steady rhythm of his heart.

He continues, watching her work. “For example, I was just finishing the tale of Oma and Shu when you arrived. Are you familiar with that story?”

The heat in her cheeks turns to flames. “Yes. We, um, we actually got lost in the Cave of Two Lovers. Not Zuko and I! This was before he joined us.”

He chuckles. “How did you manage to escape?”

Bitterness weaves around her heart. _We trusted in love._ “The green crystals led the way; they glowed when the torches went out.” She focuses intently on Zuko’s wounds.

“Ah, well the legend is true then. I have never seen the crystals in Omashu myself, but I remember the ones in Ba Sing Se quite well.”

She swallows as she remembers the sincere look in his eyes, the way he went so still at her touch. “Yeah. Me too.”

She sends the water back to her skins and sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if he ever told you, but I offered to heal his scar when we were imprisoned down there. I – I told him yesterday that I had wanted to heal him so badly then. And now I want to heal him too, more than I ever did then. But it seems like nothing I can ever do is enough to save him. Why? Why won’t he let me save him?”

“You did save him.” Iroh intones.

“No, I didn’t! Look at him! Azula shot him and now he won’t wake up no matter what I try.” She hangs her head.

He puts his hand on her shoulder. “Not just with Azula. You’ve saved him in more ways than you know.”

She wants to ask him more, but he stands and stretches. “Will you stay with him a moment? There is a special tea in the palace kitchens that I would very much like to try.”

“Of course. I won’t leave him.”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. His eyes twinkle. “I thought you might say something like that. I’ll return shortly.” With that he shuffles out of the room and toward the kitchens.

She is left alone with Zuko. She sits in the now empty chair next to the bed. She reaches over and pushes the hair out of his eyes. The gesture is becoming more familiar, more natural.

“Iroh says I saved you. What did he mean?”

Zuko of course gives no answer.

She sits back in the chair and watches him breathe through parted lips. “So you like love stories, huh? I never would have guessed.” Her heart warms a little as she considers this, but then freezes back over when she remembers her conversation in the gardens. “Well, if you like love stories, I’ve got one for you: Once there was a young boy who had great power. He was kind and sweet and considerate of others. He fell in love with a girl who did her best to take care of him and help him throughout his long journey. He did many things to try to impress her and win her love. Her feelings for him grew over time, but then other things got in the way and made her feel confused.”

She pauses and studies his face, the sharp angle of his jaw and the long soft lashes that lay on his cheek. “She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but before she could figure it out he was called off on an important mission and went away. When he returned, he expected that things would go back to the way they were.”

She sighs heavily, feeling the energy exit her body with her breath. “But they can’t. Things haven’t been the same for a long time. And now...” She runs a hand through her hair. “And now I don’t know how the story ends. If you ever wake up, maybe you can help me with it.”

The sound of footsteps and the soft clinking of porcelain grows louder in the hallway. Iroh returns bearing a tray with a steaming teapot and two small cups. He sets the tray down and she rises from the chair so that he can sit. “I brought enough to share, if you would like.”

She almost declines, but he is already pouring the first cup and holding it out for her to take. He settles in the chair with his own cup and sighs contentedly after tasting it. She tries her own; it is light and fragrant, with hints of moon peaches. The heat of it feels good in her hands and down her throat. She leans against the bed, and together they listen to the sound of Zuko’s breath.

Iroh’s body seems to soften and relax with each sip, and finally he breaks the silence. “Jasmine was always my favorite. One of them, at least. Zuko enjoys this one too, though he always burned the leaves whenever he tried to brew it himself.”

She smiles, remembering the tea he would make for the group along their travels. “Yeah. The tea he made us was always…”

“Bracing?” Iroh supplies.

She laughs. “That’s a kind way to put it. He worked in a tea shop! How could his tea be so bad?”

Iroh chuckles and take a sip of his tea. When he lowers his cup he is still smiling, though sadness tints his features. “Zuko has other talents. In most cases, what he lacks in natural ability he makes up for with hard work and determination. Tea is one of the exceptions.”

She snorts. “I’ll say.” She considers his comments more carefully. “He was determined, that’s for sure. When you two were chasing us, he just wouldn’t give up. I thought… I thought maybe in Ba Sing Se that he would change his mind, and fight with us. But I guess he had his mind set on coming back here.”

Iroh frowns. “Zuko has made mistakes along his journey, as we all have. At that time he believed it was his destiny to capture the Avatar and restore his honor, just as I once believed it was my destiny to claim Ba Sing Se for the Fire Nation. But destiny is a funny thing. Through his mistakes he was able to choose his own path and find his own destiny.”

A brief shadow crosses her heart as she remembers their encounters before his arrival at the Western Air Temple, and the penance he paid at her feet. _You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang... and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore. I'll make sure your destiny ends right then and there... permanently._

She cringes inwardly at the memory. “He was just as determined to make up for his mistakes. He tried so hard to make it right.” She remembers opening her tent to find him seated outside, a dark circle shadowing his good eye from lack of sleep. _I know who killed your mother, and I’m going to help you find him._ She hangs her head. “I was so mean to him.”

“My nephew holds you in high esteem. He would not have worked so hard to earn your trust if he did not think it was worth it.”

She gives him a slanted look. “Just how much do you know about it?”

He gives her that secretive smile and sips his tea. “Enough.”

She can feel the heat returning to her cheeks, but she ignores it. She sets her empty cup down before turning away and hugging her arms. “I forgave him, in the end, and the last few weeks have been… good. Really good. But that isn’t enough. There’s so much more to say. I thought we’d have more time. I should have never treated him that way, even with all of the things he had done. I want to tell him how sorry I am, and tell him that I...” She trails off, suddenly very aware that Iroh is listening. She sighs. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I can’t, that’s all there is to it. It’s too late.”

Iroh’s warm, weathered hand closes over her shoulder. “You must not be so hard on yourself. You have done all you can for him.” He faces her and gives her a serious look. “I must thank you for your efforts to heal him. I am certain he would not have made it this far without your care.”

She has the oddest feeling that he is talking about more than just a lightning wound. She looks at the floor. “I think you might overestimate me. Thank you, though. For the tea I mean. And the rest of it.”

He smiles and pats her shoulder before sitting back down. “Nonsense. Sharing tea with others is one of life’s true delights. But I am sure that you are in need of rest. I instructed the staff to prepare a room for you nearby, if it is to your liking.”

She startles. “But shouldn’t I be here? With him?”

“You will be.” He gives her that cryptic smile again. “Now, off to bed, I will sit with him tonight. Sleep, and tomorrow you will feel refreshed. A woman needs her rest.”

She is confused, and reluctant to leave. She wants to argue and insist that she stay, but can’t come up with a legitimate medical reason. She instructs Iroh to find her if there is any change, and on impulse gives Zuko’s hand one final quick squeeze before bidding Iroh goodnight. She can feel Iroh’s knowing eyes on her as she heads for the door.

That night she sleeps alone in her own bed. It feels cold and quiet. When sleep finally takes her, she is back in the coronation plaza, and she is forced to watch as the scenario plays out over and over again. Sometimes it plays out accurately, but in others it is Ozai wielding the lightning instead of Azula, sometimes it is Katara herself. Sometimes he kisses her after she heals him while Aang watches in chains. But no matter what, each time the results are the same, and each time he dies in her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

When she wakes in the morning, there is panic in her chest. Her dreams linger in her mind and for a moment she has to remember to breathe. She shakes her head and wills the images to recede before climbing out of bed. Her body drags as she gets ready for the day, taking extra time bathing and combing her hair. In the bathtub she heals cuts and bruises that until now had gone unnoticed. She cringes when getting dressed; she wishes she had a change of clothes.

She is stalling and she knows it. She can’t pinpoint the reason. Maybe it’s facing Aang after their conversation the night before. Maybe it’s seeing her friends and feeling jealous of their happiness and relief. But mostly she thinks it’s having to face another day of seeing Zuko’s closed eyes as he lies motionless in bed, waiting for the inevitable. If she could, she thinks she might stay in her room all day.

Someone knocks on her door, and she groans on her way to answer it. She is relieved to see her brother standing there alone, leaning on a crutch someone must have found for him.

“Katara! Aren’t you coming to breakfast?”

Breakfast. Right. _Of course it has something to do with food._ She hesitates, not sure she’s ready to go down to the kitchens just yet. “…In a minute, Sokka. Let me take a look at your leg first.”

“But, breakfast…“

“Fine, if you want to hobble around with that crutch all day, be my guest. But don’t come complaining to me later that it hurts.” She crosses her arms and waits.

He looks genuinely torn, gazing longingly down the hall, but in the end he rolls his eyes and grumbles something about bossy little sisters as he makes his way into her room. He sits down in a chair as she shuts the door.

She kneels down in front of him. Unwrapping the bandages, she examines the wound. He winces when her water envelops his knee. “There are some torn tendons here, but nothing is broken as far as I can tell. You were really lucky.”

“Yeah, It could have been a lot worse.” He chuckles halfheartedly, but stops when he sees her face.

“Yeah, it could have been.” She looks at him and catches herself. “I mean, I’m really glad you’re okay, Sokka, I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. You know that. It’s just…” she trails off, not knowing if she wants to explain herself, not sure if she would even know how.

He tries to catch her eyes. “Hey. Are you okay, Katara? You don’t seem like yourself. You didn’t seem to, I don’t know, mope this much when Aang was shot by Azula. And he was out for like three weeks!”

“That was different!” She snaps. “Aang is the Avatar. And I had the water from the spirit oasis.” _And he didn’t do it for me_ , her mind whispers. _And there wasn’t a hundred things left unsaid_.

He holds his palms out to her. “Okay, okay.” He watches as the water glows. He looks like he wants to say something, and the moment stretches out as he gathers his courage. “So… do you want to talk about it?” he says softly. She doesn’t answer, so he tries again. “How did it happen?”

She stops what she’s doing and sits back on her heels. She takes a moment to breathe, to banish the fragments of her dreams. Her hands fidget in her lap. “It was so stupid, Sokka. Iroh said it would take both of us to take her down, but when we got here Azula challenged just Zuko. I didn’t like it, but I let him fight her alone. I watched them from the side of the plaza; I was ready to jump in if he needed me. But for a while, he was holding his own. He was...incredible.” She stops for a moment, willing the heat in her cheeks to recede, wishing the story ended there. Her brother waits while she takes another breath and continues.

“He was winning. But then he went and made some ridiculous comment about lightning, and she took the bait. He looked ready, but there was just so _much_. I could feel my hair start to stand on end. I thought, ‘I need to get closer, I need to be there in case something goes wrong.’ And it did." She sniffs and bites her bottom lip.

He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. “It was reckless of Zuko to do something like that. It’s a good thing you were there when it went wrong.”

She shrugs his hand away and she can feel the tears, hot and bitter, trail down her face. “You don’t understand. _I’m_ the thing that went wrong. I got closer wanting to help, but I just ended up in Azula’s line of sight. She didn’t shoot lightning at him, she shot it at _me_.”

Sokka sits back in the chair. “Oh man. Then how…?”

She looks at him, shame weighing down her every feature. “He dove in front of it. He broke his stance and ran for it, all while I just stood there. All I could do was watch.” She shakes her head looks away.

“Hey, there was nothing you could have done. You aren’t a firebender, you couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I was supposed to protect him, not put him in danger! I should have trusted that he knew what he was doing. I should have stayed out of the way. But I didn’t. And now, if he doesn’t wake up, or if he…” she swallows hard. She cannot say it. Instead, she cries harder, covering her face with her hands. “It’s all my fault!”

She feels her brother’s arms come up around her shoulders. She leans into him, letting her body sag against his. He rubs her back with one hand.

“I know how you feel. I felt the same way when we lost Yue. It was my duty to protect her, but it was more than that, too. I felt like I had failed her, like maybe if I had done something different maybe we could have figured it out and she would still be with us. But since then I’ve realized that it was her choice to make. She had her reasons. I still feel guilty sometimes, and I still miss her, but I have to honor that sacrifice for what it was. And it’s helped me to care more for the people who are still here.”

She sits back and looks at her brother, wiping her tears with the inside of her wrist. “But it wasn’t your fault she was in that position. That was Zhao.”

“It didn’t make it hurt any less.” He gives her a sad smile. “But anyway, where’s the sister I know who’s always making over-emotional speeches about hope all the time? Zuko could still be okay.”

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“What if he does?”

She blinks, taken aback. She has spent so much time preparing for what would happen if he never opened his eyes again and mourning the loss of what could have been that she never stopped to consider what would happen if he did. Her brother’s words settle over her, and she knows now more than ever that what she said to Aang was true: things were different. Something inside her had changed, and there was no going back.

She rolls her eyes and smirks at him. “When did my brother get so smart?”

“Hey! I’ve always been the genius in this group, even if you wouldn’t acknowledge it.”

She smiles at him. “Thanks, Sokka. Really.”

“Anything for my little sister. Now can you please finish healing my leg so we can get something to eat?” 

 

* * *

 

 

They walk to the kitchens together. The rest of her friends are already gathered around a table, having a conversation that she only half hears. Something about Azula and shirshu-venom darts and straightjackets. Her mind is still focused on Sokka’s words as she fills a plate and makes her way into the dining area. She sits down next to Toph and digs into her food, relishing the taste.

When Iroh enters the room, Katara is surprised to see him. A brief wave of fear washes over her, but she swallows it down to greet him. “Good morning, Iroh. How is Zuko? He didn’t need any care last night, did he? Because if there was any change at all, you should have let me know. I want to help.”

He settles across from her and pours himself a cup of tea. “Good morning, everyone. There is no need to worry, Miss Katara. Prince Zuko did not require any special care last night.”

She sighs her relief. “But is he okay? I mean, relatively speaking?”

Iroh grins mischievously at her over the rim of his tea cup. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself? He’s been asking after you all morning.”

She blinks at him. At first she thinks she must have misunderstood. But as soon as the words and their implications sink in she is halfway down the hallway without even remembering getting up from the table.

She runs the lengths of the corridors; she can’t seem to get there fast enough. Finally she sees the ornate door and she skids to a stop in front of it, her shoes squeaking on the polished floors. Without hesitation, she pulls open the doors and steps inside.

She stands by the door and looks to the center of the room. He has migrated to the middle of the bed, and is propped up by a collection of tasseled cushions. There is a scroll in his lap. His robes are clean and unscathed; Iroh must have helped him change. There is pallor to his skin and his cheeks are a little hollow, but aside from this he looks for all the world like someone who has just been interrupted from spending a leisurely morning in bed.

He looks up from his scroll and his eyes meet hers. For a moment she feels rooted to the spot, suddenly unsure of herself. But when he smiles her heart feels full.

“Hi, Katara.”

Uncertainty melts away as she sprints for the bed. She leaps onto its edge, crawling straight for him. She straddles his outstretched legs and throws her arms around his shoulders, careful not to put any pressure on his chest. And it isn’t like the first time she held him; there is no hesitation when he returns the embrace.

He whispers into her hair, his voice soft and rasping with disuse. “I dreamed of you.”

She thinks back to her own dreams, his body cooling in her arms as the plaza burns, and holds him a little tighter. She pulls back and sits on his thighs, gratitude filling her heart that she can look into his eyes, that this simple act was not lost forever with the rest of it. The flush in his unscarred cheek stands out all the more against the paleness of his skin, and he looks away from her gaze.

“Katara, I – “

The sound of footsteps thundering down the halls catches their attention, and suddenly she is very aware that she is still sitting in his lap. She scrambles off of him with a half-hearted laugh and mumbled apology just as their friends burst through the doorway.

The tapestries on the walls billow softly as Aang arrives first on his airscooter, followed by her brother and Suki. Toph pauses for a moment at the doorway, as if listening to something, and then smiles before striding into the room. They all crowd around the bed and the room is alive with noise as they all greet Zuko at once. Sokka leans over the expanse of the bed and grabs his forearm and thanks him, while Aang is saying something about the size of Zuko’s room. Suki smiles and waves. Toph can’t reach him, so she punches the bed instead.

Katara takes a deep breath and feels her heart begin to calm. She looks at Zuko, and he seems uncomfortable. His eyes flit back and forth between their friends, a strange half-smile frozen on his face. _He's overwhelmed._ She raises her voice above the din, and encourages everyone to let Zuko rest. As she ushers them out of the room, she glances back over her shoulder and sees the look of weary gratitude in his eyes.

“I – we’ll be back later to visit you.”

As she pulls the doors closed she looks to the center of the room. His eyes remain locked on hers until the doors are shut.


	6. Chapter 6

She visits him again in the evening, and she finds him where they left him. The scroll is in his lap again, and his brows furrow in concentration. A tray with covered dishes sits on the bedside table, apparently untouched. The door creaks as she closes it, but he doesn’t look up.

“Uncle, I told you, I don’t need any more tea. It won’t help.”

She stifles a giggle behind her hand. “Actually, it’s me.”

He startles and then looks up at her. “Katara! I’m sorry. Come in.”

She takes a step forward, but hesitates. “I can come back later, if you want. I don’t want to interrupt.”

He sets the scroll on the bed and gestures her forward. She makes her way to the bed and sits in the chair next to it. “You aren’t interrupting. Uncle just keeps trying to bring me tea. He says it’s supposed to help with pain, but all it does is make me tired.”

Immediately she is concerned. “Is there a lot of pain?”

He looks a little sheepish. “…Some. It kind of hurts to breathe.”

“Zuko!” She rockets out of the chair, hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you have someone come get me? I can help! Or did you just conveniently forget your friend is a master waterbender?”

He meets her glare with a look of embarrassment. “I guess I didn’t want to bother you. Uncle says you’ve been healing me for three days. I thought you might be tired.”

Her heart squeezes and her features soften. “I didn’t make my fingers look like sea prunes by the end of every night just to leave you in pain now.” She gestures to his chest. “Let me see if I can help.”

His eyes widen. “Now?”

“Yes, now! You said you were in pain! Come on, move over and let me see.”

At first he doesn’t move, but she is already crawling onto the bed and he is forced to make room for her. He winces as he shifts. He settles in and looks at her again, as if not sure what to do next.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Lie down and take your shirt off!” His eyes pop and her mind catches up to her mouth. She laughs weakly. “I mean… I can’t really heal you if I can’t see the wound.”

He complies, slowly easing himself down onto the bed. He stares intently at the ceiling, color tinting his cheeks, as he tries to undress. His hands slip and his fingers struggle with the knot of his belt.

Awkwardness settles over her as she watches him, and she desperately wants this moment to end. Impatience and discomfort get the best of her, and she huffs in frustration. “Here, let me do it.” She reaches out and begins working on the knot and tugging open his robes.

“Katara!” He tries to grab at her wrists, but she bats him away.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude. I’ve been healing you for three days, remember? And anyway, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Her mouth snaps shut and she silently vows to be more careful with her words. As she picks apart the final knot, she tries very hard not to think of early morning firebending sessions at the beach house.

He looks sufficiently scandalized before settling his features into a scowl. The familiarity of the expression makes her heart curl in on itself and she can’t help but smile.

She coats her hand in water from her pouch and runs it over his wound. She tries to center her thoughts, to think of him as just another patient, but only partially succeeds. _This was so much easier when he was asleep._ She closes her eyes and breathes, sensing the damage as the water glows. “There’s still work to be done, but it’s deep. It will take time and effort to heal, but I think it can be done.”

His heart jumps under her hand and she opens her eyes to ask if he’s in pain, but instead he’s looking at her like she’s said something profound. She sends her water away but her hand lingers on his chest. Her hand seems to move on its own accord; she watches her fingers as they trace the edges of the new scar tissue, glossy and pink. She frowns. “You’ll probably always have this though. I’m sorry.”

He catches her hand, startling her. “Are you willing to try though? To heal it?” He is looking at her intently, eyes searching, almost pleading, and she has the feeling he isn’t just talking about his frayed muscles. She blushes but holds his gaze.

“I think most of the hard work is already done.”

He sighs and his features relax; it is her turn to look away. She summons her water again and focuses on the wound, and his eyes fall closed as the room turns from red to blue. Her mind spins as her fingers weave through the water. The silence feels oppressive but her thoughts jump like rabbaroos and she can’t decide what to say. She can’t put what she feels into words, so she hums to fill the space.

His eyes snap open. “That’s it.”

She stops and looks at him, head tilted to the side. “What’s it?”

“I said I had dreamed of you. Well, you and not you. She was older but she had your voice, and she was singing. It was that song. How do you know it?”

And for that moment she is back in the plaza, fear and despair weighing her down as she cries into his shoulder, the air thick with lullabies and smoke. Her throat constricts and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She offers him a sad smile while she sends her water away. She clears her throat. “Take a deep breath. How does it feel?”

A shadow passes over his features, a cross between confusion and disappointment. But he doesn’t press her and for that she is grateful. He follows her instructions and concentrates on his breathing, but the air catches in his throat when he tries to breathe too deeply.

“It still hurts, but it’s better than it was.”

She sighs and crawls backward, making her way off of the bed. She stands and straightens her robes. “You should get some rest. We’ll work on it more tomorrow. Make sure you tell someone to come get me if it gets worse.”

He is looking at her strangely, but he nods. “I will.”

She bids him goodnight and walks faster than strictly necessary toward the exit. When she closes the door behind her she lets out a deep breath and covers her face with one hand.

“Coward.”

At first she thinks the voice comes from inside her head, but she looks down the hall and sees Toph leaning against the wall.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s it, isn’t it? Why else wouldn’t you be in there right now making out with Fire Lord Hotpants?”

Heat shoots to the roots of her hair and she storms toward Toph, gripping the girl by the shoulder and forcing her down the hall. She whispers through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Zuko is hurt. I’m trying to heal him. That’s it.”

Toph keeps pace with Katara but shrugs her hand away. “I might be blind but I’m not stupid. What, you think I couldn’t feel what was going on this morning?”

She glances around; worried that someone might be around to hear. She sees no one but keeps her voice low. “There was nothing going on! I was just happy that he was finally awake!”

Toph responds in a sing-song voice. “I can tell you’re lying!”

Katara has to restrain herself from freezing her to the nearest wall, if only to wipe the smirk off of her face. Instead she crosses her arms and growls low in her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Toph stretches her arms over her head casually. “Look, I don’t know what happened during the comet, and I don’t need to. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve felt these vibrations between you two. You just need to face up to whatever feelings you have. Maybe then you’ll stop driving us all crazy with your mood swings.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but the words catch in her throat. All the energy seems to drain out of her body and she stops in the middle of the hallway. She looks at the floor. “I don’t know what I feel.”

Toph pauses, a few paces ahead of her. “Yes, you do. You just have to be honest enough to admit it. It’s not fair to either of you if you don’t.” And with that, she continues down the hall.

She watches her go, and wants to shout that she’s wrong, that it’s none of her business. But she can’t. She searches her heart, and a small part of her hates Toph for being right. She _is_ a coward. But she doesn’t have to be. She takes a deep breath and turns around.

* * *

She inches his door open and peeks inside. The lamps are burning low and he is curled up on his side, his breathing low and even. She feels guilty about waking him; after all, she was the one who told him to rest. She almost closes the door – _surely this can wait._ But Toph’s words are still fresh in her mind, and she knows that this, too, is just an excuse. She stands up straight and steps inside, closing the door softly behind her.

She approaches the bed but he does not wake. Her blood thunders in her ears, and for a moment she can’t make herself wake him. She stalls for a moment to watch him. He has removed his tunic and her eyes follow the curve of his bare shoulders and the gentle rise and fall of his ribs. His bare feet stick out the bottom of the sheets which are tangled around his legs. A piece of his hair flutters when he exhales. She is reminded suddenly of waking up in this bed and she can’t help but smile. This time, if she touched him he would wake. She gathers her courage and reaches out, pushing the hair off of his forehead.

He frowns in his sleep and his hand comes up reflexively to swat her away before burrowing back down in the bed. She stifles a laugh and reaches out once more, gently shaking him by the shoulder. She whispers softly. “Zuko. Wake up.”

His eyes snap open and he props himself up on one arm. He waves a hand and the lamps brighten. His eyes seem to focus and his expression changes from startled to confused. “Katara? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to wake you. I just… I just needed to talk to you. It’s important.”

He frowns, but nods and gestures for her to sit. She climbs onto the bed and sits cross-legged next to him. He rubs his good eye with a knuckle while he waits for her to speak.

Her mind suddenly feels crowded again, and she realizes she doesn’t know where to start. He is watching her, waiting patiently, and each second that goes by feels more embarrassing as she wishes she would have though this through. Her eyes fall back to the starburst in his chest, and she can’t help but remember what it was that first night, the weight of his body as she tried to drag him, the hope that slowly drained from her as the hours and days passed, the fear that the things she needed to say would remain unsaid and unknown, the guilt that she felt that he would give up so much to save her. This, she decides, is as good a place to start as any.

She looks down into her lap and gazes at her hands while she speaks. “I’m…I’m really glad you’re okay… I was really scared though, Zuko. I spent three days thinking you wouldn’t wake up. Those first two days we were all alone and I was a wreck. What were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing?” Against her will, her throat starts to close up and she can feel tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

He slumps back and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry; I thought that I had her. I thought that I could finally beat her and – “

She cuts him off. “That’s not what I meant.”

He swallows and stares at the ceiling. The moment stretches out before he finally says: “Azula preys on weakness.”

She looks at him, feeling indignant, though there are still tears in her eyes. This is not the response she is expecting, and not the one she wants. She pokes him in the shoulder. “What do you mean by that? Are you saying that I’m weak? That I couldn’t take her? I’m the one that defeated her, remember?”

He licks his lips and tentatively covers her hand with his own. “I wasn’t talking about your weaknesses. I was talking about mine.”

 _Oh_. Looking into his eyes, something brightens inside her, something warm and new that feels like spring. For a moment she is mesmerized, but this burgeoning feeling only reminds her of what she might have lost. She pulls her hand back and waves a finger in his face.

“Well it was still really stupid of you. You shouldn’t have thought you had to do it all on your own. We’re stronger when we’re together.”

He looks away and rubs the back of his neck. “Together. Right.”

She catches the implication and flushes. But she can’t let him off that easy. Taking advantage of his distraction, she punches him in the shoulder.

“Ow! Katara! What was that for?!”

“That’s for scaring me!”

He rubs his arm. “I said I was sorry! I didn’t do it to scare you. I did it because- “ He catches himself and stops short. He freezes and looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

She’s trying to keep a stern face, but a smile is building underneath it, making the corners of her mouth twitch upward. She crosses her arms. “Well. I’m waiting.”

He crosses his arms and looks away, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes before putting on his most dignified expression. “Because it was the honorable thing to do, obviously.”

Inside she’s laughing, but she huffs and makes like she’s going to get off the bed. “Oh, well, if that’s all it was…”

His hand wraps around her arm. “Wait.”

She settles back down. He won’t look at her and his hands are fidgeting with the sheets at his waist. “I don’t even know how to explain it, okay? I thought it would be better to fight her alone, but not just because I wanted to beat her by myself. I meant it when I said I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.” He pauses, and glances at her before looking back down. “You. I didn’t want _you_ to get hurt.” The color in his unscarred cheek starts to match his sheets. As he speaks, one of his hands drifts to his chest, and his fingers rub the outlines of the new scar tissue there. “When I saw what she was going to do, I didn’t even have to think about it. It didn’t matter what happened to me, because I… ugh, why am I so bad at this?” He covers his face with his other hand and shakes his head.

Her heart swells in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. “Zuko.” He looks at her between his fingers. She reaches out and pulls his hand away, bringing it up to her face. He lays his palm flat against her cheek and she leans into his touch. She squeezes her eyes shut and tears trail down her face and onto his long fingers, the same ones she had healed only days ago.

He surprises her by gripping her by the shoulder and pulling her down to him. She lies across him at an angle. His arms wrap around her and she holds him tighter with the knowledge in her heart that the fear of losing him wasn’t just about guilt and failure and regret, it was about _him_. The armor and the crown and the high-ceilinged hallways are all a part of him, but so is this: the scent of him as she inhales, the feel of his shaggy hair against her neck, the warmth that radiates from his limbs as he holds her close. The quick temper, the pride and determination, the awkwardness underneath. The feel of his hands around her wrists, the sun as it shines behind him in the spirit oasis, the look in his eyes under the glow of green crystals as she walks away, the fury she felt as he knelt in contrition, the silent support as she stopped the rain. And now this. An entire history and future that pulses between them.

She is reluctant to let go, but when she does she props herself up on her elbows. She is looking at him and smiling as she brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. She stops, and gently lays her hand over the left side of his face. He closes his eyes and goes still, leaning into her touch. She feels the heat in his face, the scar under her fingertips, his breath on her thumb as she traces his lips. It’s a familiar sensation by now, but it’s also entirely new. This isn’t like Ba Sing Se and it isn’t like the few nights past. She isn’t trying to heal him or save him, this is something different. The boy under her hand is warm and alive and his every shuddering breath betrays a new type of anticipation.

She shifts her hand to cup the side of his jaw, takes a shaking breath of her own, and leans in. She swallows, suspended so close that when she whispers she knows that he can feel her words on his skin, taste them through his parted lips.

“Thank you, Zuko.”

She closes the distance and he wastes no time in threading his fingers in her hair. His body is hard and unyielding but his lips are warm and soft, and she almost laughs as she realizes that this is it, this is the moment in which everything they’ve been fighting against is over. The hurt and worry and fear that have been choking her release into the air in a single sigh against his mouth.

She pulls back a fraction and looks at him. He grins at her, pressing his forehead against hers. He whispers back at her before pulling her back in.

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

It’s only a start, and there’s still so much left to say. But together, they begin to write the end of her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on my personal headcanon: Iroh is a revered retired general. He is also a master strategist and a Grand Lotus. In my head, there is no way he sent Zuko and Katara to the Fire Nation with the idea that they would be able to somehow defeat Azula and complete a hostile takeover of the entire palace all on their own. *Of course* he would have operatives in place, both as a backup and as a way to secure victory in the capital. He might want Zuko and Katara to fight Azula alone, but that doesn’t mean that they *were* alone. And they didn’t even need to be told about it. Iroh is fucking crafty like that. Of course there would be a coup.
> 
> Also a note on the gaang’s arrival: Appa may be able to travel at the speed of plot, but Appa is with Zuko and Katara. Sokka, Toph, Aang, Suki and Iroh and the white lotus folks are all in Ba Sing Se or its outskirts. If you look at the map of the Avatar universe, this is a long way from the fire nation. It would conceivably take at least a day to travel by balloon from one side of the world to the other. And there’s no way the gaang can pilot one of those things alone for all that time. They might have been able to figure out how to steer it, but there’s a huge crew on those things for a reason. It needs fuel and navigation and a host of other things. My headcanon insists that they went to the city, found Iroh and some other folks to help pilot the craft and secure Ozai, and then high-tailed it back to the Fire Nation together. 
> 
> Oh, and the white lotus members on site for the coup were equipped with shirshu venom darts to subdue the princess. How the hell else do you get close to someone shooting blue fire out of their mouth? Those chains weren’t going to hold forever.


End file.
